


Christmas Sucks

by AstrophysicalBean



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alice is a mischievous little shit but we all knew she would be, Everything is happy, F/F, Gen, based off a prompt from haughtsbiceps on tumblr, basically 'I saw mommy kissing Santa Clause' but gay, wayhaught are married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 14:52:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17003751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstrophysicalBean/pseuds/AstrophysicalBean
Summary: Alice is on a mission to prove that Santa is real, so she camps out in the living room on Christmas Eve to see him. And she does. She just doesn't expect to see her Aunt Waverly kissing Santa. Christmas is going to suck this year, because she has to tell her Aunt Nicole that her wife cheated on her.





	Christmas Sucks

Despite what her Momma might say, Alice Earp was no longer a child.

Which is not to say that she wanted to stop ordering from the kid’s menu at restaurants, like her Auntie Wave joked whenever she proclaimed her maturity. Adult menus didn’t have chicken fingers, and they never came with a toy afterward.

She was still a _kid_ , you see; she just wasn’t a _child_ anymore.

She was six, thank you _very much_ , and she wanted the truth. The about everything, really: why the sky is blue (Auntie Wave said it was so that it would match her eyes) and why the grass was green (Aunt Nicole said it was because an angel dropped green paint everywhere) and why thunder was loud (Momma said the same angel who dropped all that paint was _banging_ something, and that’s what all that noise was).

For some reason, Auntie Wave and Aunt Nicole didn’t like that last explanation much.

But no matter; that was a mystery for another night. For tonight, she had other questions on her mind.

She always had a lot of questions on her mind all the time. Her family struggled to keep up with them all; they bounced around in topic so much—but she just wanted to know _everything_. There were too many mysteries in the world. She didn’t understand any of it, but she _needed_ to. Tonight, though, there was at least a theme. Tonight was Christmas, and she wanted to test out a theory Jonathan Loblaw had told her at school, before the start of the break.

He said that Santa wasn’t real.

Which was ridiculous, of course; everyone _knows_ Santa exists. Who else was putting all the presents under their trees every Christmas? Who was eating the cookies she left by the fireplace? And the carrots for the reindeer? Jonathan said it was their parents doing everything, which was, again, _ridiculous_. Parents couldn’t get all the presents under _everyone’s_ trees in the _entire world_ in one night. They weren’t magic. Everyone knew it was Santa doing it all. He even had Canadian citizenship—would the government people give citizenship to someone who doesn’t even _exist_? That would just be silly.

And so Christmas Eve, when her Momma tucked her into bed that night with her teddy bear, Mr Plumpkins, she had made sure there was a flashlight from the storage shed stashed in bed with her. She stayed up long past the time she should have fallen asleep, utterly determined. Her eyes drooped once or twice, but she shook herself out of it, perched in bed and listening astutely to the house outside her bedroom door.

She could hear Momma watching TV in the living room with her Daddy. They didn’t see her Daddy much, but he was allowed to visit for Christmas.

(That was another question she had, why her Daddy didn’t live with them and why he and Momma weren’t married like everyone else’s parents, but that question had only gotten her uncomfortable silence and Momma’s terse “ _Daddy and I don’t love each other like everyone else’s parents, but we love you. It’s better this way, baby, trust me._ ”)

Momma was saying something loud to the TV; it sounded like she was complaining about the main character in some Christmas movie. Alice wasn’t sure what she was complaining about, but she heard a lot of swearing words her Auntie Wave would scold her for, so she assumed Momma was happy.

In the kitchen, she could hear her Auntie Wave bustling about, still cleaning up after dinner. Dishes being washed, table being cleaned; anything to keep her busy until Aunt Nicole got home from work. Auntie Wave said her wife had a special shift tonight, that’s why she had to miss dinner, but she’d be at Christmas dinner tomorrow, so it was okay. Alice could accept that, but she still missed her aunt, and she could tell Auntie Wave did, too.

Hours ticked by slow, until Momma’s movie finally finished, and she wandered to bed. Daddy went to bed soon after, to the guest room down the hall. Alice listened to him brush his teeth in the bathroom and finally settle into bed. All that was left was Auntie Wave, and Alice could hear her humming softly to carols on the radio in the kitchen. She was probably reading a book; she liked reading books a lot.

Finally, after a literal _eternity_ , Alice heard the radio click off, and Auntie Wave pad quietly up the stairs, down the hall, and off to bed. She waited 10 minutes after that, waiting to see if anyone would stir, but when all stayed quiet, she put her plan into motion.

_This_ would show Jonathan Loblaw. He was a—he was—he was a _bad word_.

With all the determination that only a too-curious six-year-old could have, she threw the covers off and slipped out of bed. The night was cold (the nights were _always_ cold in Purgatory), so she pulled on a thick sweater Nana Gus had made her for Christmas last year. Finally, Mr Plumpkins clutched tight in tiny arms, she was ready. Flashlight in hand, she slipped out of her room and down the hall, to the stairs. She had long ago figured out which were the squeaky floorboards to avoid so that Auntie Wave wouldn’t hear her and come out, hands on hips and a disapproving look on her face. Alice shivered at the thought of that look; even Momma was afraid of it. Even Aunt Nicole was.

Slowly she slipped down the stairs and into the living room, to wait for Santa behind the couch. She had scoped out her hiding spot earlier that week. This was a very well thought out plan she had, see. She would wait for Santa here, behind the couch, where no one could see her unless they went right up to the tree to her left, turned and squinted into the shadows between the couch and the wall. That way no one would see her, if they went to the kitchen for some water, or when Aunt Nicole came in from work, but Santa might see her—he _would_ see her, because he’d know she was there. She didn’t know how, but he’d know. He was magic. Magic people were like that; they just knew things.

She was pretty sure her Aunties were magic, too; they always seemed to know when she and Momma snuck into the cookie jar. Not once had she and Momma gotten away with it completely, but it was a mission they strove for, nonetheless.

Settling into the space between the couch and the wall, she snuggled up with Mr Plumpkins and waited. The clock on the wall said it was nearly 11 now; she was feeling the tiredness in her tiny bones, but _no_. She could _do this_. Jonathan was _wrong_. Santa was _real,_ and Christmas was _not a lie_.

Time dragged on. She surveyed the heavily decorated living room, with all its tinsel and lights strewn everywhere. Wreaths hung on the wall, and Christmas cards littered the mantle. Bells and ribbons adorned every family photo hung on the walls, and pillow stuffing on the windowsills made it look like the cushy white snow from outside had invaded the inside, too. It looked like they lived inside a Christmas castle, and that wasn’t even _counting_ the tree.

The tree was something else entirely. It barely fit in the house, it was so tall. They had all gone out to the fields on the other side of the Homestead land, to pick the tree out together; Aunt Nicole with an ax, Auntie Wave in stride beside her with a packed picnic lunch, and Momma dragging Alice along behind her in a sled, while she and Alice sung Christmas carols as loud as they could. They were trying to see which song would annoy her Aunties the most. Auntie Wave joined in when they got to _Little Drummer Boy_ , which made Aunt Nicole grumble that they were going to cause an avalanche with their incessant screaming of “ _Pa rum pum pum pum!_ ” at the top of their lungs. She grumbled without malice, though, and kissed her wife sweetly when Waverly snuggled up to her to keep the chilly air away. Alice and her Momma had groaned at that, and for a few minutes their procession was interrupted as they stopped to throw snowballs at her Aunties for being so gross and _kissing_ , and Aunt Nicole retaliated in kind, valiantly throwing herself in front of her wife to protect her from the barrage, crying that “ _No one attacks my wife and lives to see the day end!_ ”

They had made it to the orchard in the end, though, and all four of them agreed that they were going to pick out the biggest tree they could possibly fit in the house. It was what they did. Momma and her Aunties loved Christmas like no others. Every year, the Homestead was decorated within an inch of its life, bedecked out like they were trying to give Hallmark a run for its money, and the tree above all was otherworldly. Lush and green and smelling so strongly of pine that the scent would linger for weeks after they took it down. They would decorate it together, Alice taking charge of the lower boughs, while Momma and Auntie Wave would take the middle, and Aunt Nicole (as the only one of them who could reach that high, much to her wife’s eternal grumbling about it) would decorate the top.

The result was a haphazard and utterly chaotic-looking three-tiered mess of homemade decorations, mismatched tinsel, and four different strings of lights tied together, and it was perfect.

Then Aunt Nicole would lift Alice up, and Alice would get to put the Menstruangel on top. She wasn’t sure what a _Menstruangel_ was yet, but she knew it was important to Momma and Auntie Wave, and she knew it was special that _she_ got to put it on top.

Christmas was her favourite time of the year, because it was _their_ favourite time of the year, and she would _not_ let Jonathan Loblaw ruin that.

She sat for what felt like _hours_ — _days_ , even—but she kept vigil, nonetheless. She was on a mission, and it was of utmost important. She had to save Christmas, basically.

The clock read half past midnight (Aunt Nicole had taught her how to read the clock just that year, and she was very proud; not even Jonathan Loblaw could read an _analogue_ clock) when something happened. The front door opened, carefully, and someone stepped in. Alice held Mr Plumpkin tighter, squeezing him hard for strength and bravery as she peered into the house from her hiding spot, waiting for whoever it was to come in and dust off their boots.

It was a tall figure, and their shadow looked lumpy, big and round. _It could be_ , she thought. _It’s the right height, I think_.

Boots were unlaced and placed on the shoe rack beside the door, a hat was shaken free of snow, and finally— _finally_ —the figure stepped into the light of the dying fire in the fireplace.

Alice nearly screamed.

It was Santa.

_It was Santa_.

Santa had his back to her, but she _knew_ it was him; _no one else_ would have the red suit, the red hat, the big belly and a large sack of toys hanging from gloved hands. He dropped the sack by the front door and moved to take off his hat as Alice moved to spring from her hiding place, heart thundering in her ears, when they both heard a door open upstairs. She quickly stuffed herself back into her hiding place, and Santa looked up in curiosity at the stairs, as someone walked down, light footsteps barely making a sound on the faded wooden floorboards. The steps of someone used to these floorboards; used to being quiet on them.

“Merry Christmas, _Santa_ ,” that was Auntie Wave’s voice, quiet but undeniably laden with a bright smile. Alice’s mind was riddled with questions. What was she doing up so late? How did she know Santa? Had she known Santa this _entire_ time, and didn’t think to introduce him? The thought made the pit of her tummy burn in anger.

Santa laughed, turning toward her Auntie. “Merry Christmas, Waves.”

Alice’s brow furrowed in confusion. Santa had… an oddly high voice. Kind of… feminine-sounding. Not that Santa couldn’t be a woman, she amended in her mind. But… but all the books said he was a man. He was supposed to be jolly old Saint Nick. Momma said he was, so he must be. Momma never lied to her.

“Ready for your present?” Waverly asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Alice peered out of her hiding spot once more, carefully, to see her Auntie Waverly reach Santa and immediately pull him into a hug and a— _oh no_.

A _kiss_.

Like, a _big_ kiss. A long one. A _gross_ one. Alice looked away, but even when she did, she could still see in her mind her Auntie Wave curl her hands around the neck of someone who _wasn’t_ Aunt Nicole, and the Not-Aunt-Nicole wrap his arms around Auntie Wave’s waist, pulling her closer, and the two of them— _ugh_ — _kissing_.

She wasn’t too sure about kissing yet. It was cute when her Aunties kissed, because they were in love. She liked it when Momma kissed her cheeks and forehead and face, because Momma loved her, and it made her feel loved to get peppered in all those kisses. But Billy Hardy had kissed her cheek once on the playground, and she had punched him in the nose for it. It was _gross_.

But Santa was kissing her Auntie Wave like nothing else, and it was _even grosser_. It made her angry— _so angry_. Aunt Nicole was out at work, on a special shift at the children’s ward of the nearby hospital or something, and here her wife was, _kissing somebody else_. Alice hadn’t thought her Auntie Waverly would be one of _those_ people, like on the shows she watched with Momma sometimes where everything was dramatic, and everyone cried every five minutes.

Momma had explained marriage to her when she was four and asked why Momma and Daddy didn’t get married. “I thought you had to be married to have kids, and you have me, so how does it work?” She had asked. Momma only laughed and ruffled her hair, but the laugh was kind of quiet and hollow, and the smile she wore didn’t reach her eyes. “No, baby, you don’t have to be married to have a kid. You just have to love each other. Look at your aunts; they don’t have a kid, they just love each other more than anyone else on the planet, so they promised to love each other like that forever, and no one else.”

But here Auntie Wave was, _kissing someone else_. It made her tiny hands ball into angry fists. She wanted to jump out and pummel Santa. Aunt Nicole said violence was never the answer, but Momma said it was sometimes the answer, when you had a really good reason to hurt whoever it was. Not just a reason for you, but for the people you loved. And right now, Momma’s advice worked better for her, so she wanted to follow it. She loved Aunt Nicole, and Auntie Wave was _cheating on her with Santa_. She wanted to pummel Santa so bad, he couldn’t deliver any more presents to any other houses ever.

But then, that stayed her hand. If she kicked his butt now, he wouldn’t be able to deliver Christmas to any other houses.

She deflated in her hiding spot, curling in on herself and squeezing her eyes shut tight as she heard Santa and Auntie Wave shuffle up the stairs and into Auntie Wave’s room, giggling as they went. Christmas was ruined for her—it was _dead_ to her—but she couldn’t ruin it for all the other kids in the world. That wasn’t fair.

She stayed behind the couch for a while longer, waiting to see if Aunt Nicole came home. Maybe she would tell Aunt Nicole not to go upstairs, because Auntie Wave had brought Santa up there and she wanted to spare her aunt the pain of seeing her wife kiss with someone else. Aunt Nicole never came, though, and as the clock struck 2 a.m., she wandered back upstairs, to her cold bed, dried tears staining her stormy face. She fell asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow, but her dreams were troubled and full of Santa’s stupid sleigh being parked outside the Homestead where Aunt Nicole’s police cruiser usually was.

* * *

She almost didn’t remember what had happened, when she awoke the next morning. For a few moments, Alice was still in bliss, caught up in the excited thought that _it’s finally Christmas_. She threw her covers back and shot out of bed faster than a bullet, darting to the door, only to be slowed by the sudden thought that _what if I go downstairs and I see Santa making breakfast with Auntie Wave, instead of Aunt Nicole?_ Her hand froze halfway to the doorknob. It curled into a fist.

She could hear a clamour downstairs; the sink running, bacon crackling on the stove, eggs cracking, coffee brewing—a normal morning, at the Homestead. It didn’t sound any different to any other day. She could hear Momma singing obnoxiously along to the radio, and she could hear Daddy laughing as Momma completely butchered the high notes in _All I Want for Christmas Is You_ by Mariah Carey. It was Momma’s favourite, because it was Aunt Nicole’s _least_ favourite. She could hear the door open, and cheers go around the kitchen as her Uncle Jeremy and Uncle Robin enter, sending round a chorus of ‘ _Merry Christmas_ ’s as the group of friends reveled in the holiday together. They all had a _thing_ about Christmas. Alice had loved it just yesterday.

Now she simply took a deep, resolute breath, nodded to herself once, and exited her bedroom, head held high and determination focusing her bright blue eyes.

Down the stairs and into the kitchen, she entered the chaos, almost swept away by the clang and clamour of it all. Daddy saw her first, and swept her up into a hug, twirling her around as he kissed her cheek. She giggled, squeezing her eyes shut tight as his bushy moustache tickled her cheek, and she hugged him tight around the neck. “Merry Christmas, munchkin,” he said, and she hugged him tighter.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she mumbled into his ear, a little sad to be saying it. She loved her Daddy, but this Christmas was _not_ merry.

Momma passed the spatula over to her sister to mind the pancakes and rounded the kitchen table to sweep Alice away from her father, perching her on her waist and kissing her cheek messily. “Merry Christmas, baby girl,” she said. “You ready for a super awesome day?”

Alice looked at her mother seriously. “No,” she said. Her mother blanked.

“What?”

“Today is gonna _suck_ ,” she proclaimed.

The kitchen stopped in its commotion as everyone turned to her, perched on her mother’s waist, confusion on all their faces. Her father recovered first, speaking up from the table. “Why’s it gonna suck, munchkin?”

Alice looked to her aunt gravely, dead serious as she looked into Auntie Wave’s eyes. “Because Auntie Wave ruined it.”

Auntie Wave, who had been halfway through a sip of her tea, choked. Momma gaped at her. Aunt Nicole crushed an egg in her hand, and the gooey yolk spilled out through her fingers, falling onto the counter. “That’s not very nice to say, Alice,” she said in her Police Voice that sounded authoritative.

“No,” Alice said. “But it’s true. You need to divorce her, Aunt Nicole.”

“ _What?_ ” Momma yelped. “Baby, why—”

“I _saw_ you last night, Auntie Wave, don’t try to tell me I didn’t.” Alice accused, her voice so unexpectedly loud and strong for someone so little, so frail, hiding in her mother’s arms. There was a bit of a waver to it. She was scared—of course she was. She _loved_ her Aunties. She didn’t _want_ to do this to them. But it wasn’t fair to keep it to herself. Aunt Nicole _had_ to know who she married.

Waverly sputtered, face suddenly ghostly pale. “ _Wh_ — _who_ —what did you see?” Aunt Nicole wasn’t sure where she should be looking: at her wife, so stricken by accusation, or her niece, who had justice in her eyes. 

Alice readjusted her grip around her mother’s neck, almost not wanting to say, now that she saw how much it was hurting them. But no, they needed to know. “I saw you kissing Santa last night. I was waiting behind the couch for him, and then he came in the front door, took off his boots, and then you came downstairs, kissed him, and then took him up to your room. You have a _wife_ , Auntie Wave! Did you just _forget about her?_ ”

To drive her point home, she waved a hand to said wife, who had suddenly gone bright red from the collar of her sweater to her hairline, disappearing into messy red hair.

No one moved, spoke, breathed, for a long, terse moment. Bacon sizzled in the pan. Eggs burned on the pot.

Momma broke the silence first.

She snorted, bursting out laughing so hard she had to put Alice down, leaning heavily on her knees as she gasped for air, and all the other adults (save the two wives at the stove) laughed just as hard. Uncle Jeremy leant into his husband’s collar, and Uncle Robin was wiping tears from his eyes. Even Alice’s normally stoic father threw his head back and was howling with unabashed glee.

Momma was fighting hard to catch her breath as Alice watched on in confusion. “Ho—holy _shit_ —oh my _God_ —Wave—she—oh my God, baby, I love you so much,” she pulled Alice toward her again, leaning down at the waist to hug her daughter tightly. Kissing the top of her head, she stood up, ruffling thick brown hair that hadn’t been brushed yet.

(Not that that would make it any less messy; Alice had gotten her mother’s hair, and she hadn’t grown into it yet.)

“Baby,” she said, trying to smother her laughter. “Baby, you didn’t see Auntie Wave cheating on her wife last night. That wasn’t Santa, that was just Aunt Nicole getting home from work.”

Alice stilled, mind racing, trying to figure that out. “But… Aunt Nicole doesn’t wear a Santa suit to work. She’s a police officer. She wears a Police suit.”

Momma chuckled, picking Alice up and plopping her in a chair beside her Daddy. “Not last night, kiddo. She had a special shift, remember? She was delivering presents to the children’s ward and Purgatory General.”

Alice looked to her aunt for confirmation. “Really?”

Aunt Nicole cleared her throat, scratching the back of her neck like she did when she was nervous. “Yeah, it’s something the Purgatory PD does every year. Usually it was Nedley who went as Santa, I was always just one of his elves, but with Nedley being retired and all, he said it was my turn to be Santa.”

Alice frowned at that. “Why was Mr Nedley being Santa. Is… is Mr Nedley Santa? Is that what he does, now that he’s not a police officer?”

Aunt Nicole shook her head. “No, sweetheart, Nedley’s not Santa. It’s just something we do every year, to make the kids smile even though they have to be in the hospital on Christmas.”

Still, Alice frowned. “Why don’t you let Santa do that, though? That’s his job, not yours.”

No one quite knew how to answer that, six adults freezing in turn, all looking to each other to explain something— _but what?_ Alice wondered. They all looked like they had a secret to tell her, but none of them wanted to be the one to say it.

It was Auntie Wave who recovered first, taking the (now burnt) pancakes off the ring and moving to kneel down in front of her niece. “It is his job, but you want to know a secret?” She said conspiratorially.

Alice, still apprehensive to believe her aunt hadn’t been cheating last night, only nodded stoically, blue eyes hard and distrusting. Waverly leant forward, as if she was sharing some grave, well-guarded secret of the universe. “It _is_ Santa’s job, yes, but, well, the world is really big, right?”

Alice nodded. This, she knew. She didn’t know _how_ big, but she knew it was _big_ big. “Right,”

“And so, Santa can’t deliver _all_ those presents by himself.” Waverly said.

“Yes he can,” Alice disagreed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’s _magic_ , Auntie Wave.”

“Right,” Waverly nodded seriously. “But even magic has its limits, so every year he picks out a few _special_ people to help him deliver _all_ the presents to _everyone_ in the world. Only the best, bravest, smartest, _kindest_ people get chosen, so that’s why your Aunt Nicole had to do it. She’s the best of the best, right?”

Again, Alice nodded. This was fact.

Waverly nodded with her. “Yeah, so in order to stay on track, she had to help him with delivering presents to the kids at the hospital. So, she had to be Santa for the night. That’s why she was in the suit.”

Alice chewed on her lip, surveying her aunt seriously, scrutinizing every word to find any trace of a lie, any hint of infidelity. “So… you _were_ kissing Santa, but Santa was really Aunt Nicole?”

Waverly chuckled, but her cheeks reddened just a bit. “Yes, I _promise_ —I would _never_ kiss anyone who wasn’t Aunt Nicole.”

Alice chewed that over for a moment before nodding slowly. “Good,” she said, throwing her arms around her aunt’s neck, squishing her in a tight hug. “I don’t want Santa to be my new Auntie.”

Waverly laughed, swinging Alice up and into her arms, feeling the tension leave the room. “You don’t?”

Alice shook her head, looking to her other Auntie by the stove. “No, Aunt Nicole is _way_ better. _She_ wouldn’t eat all the cookies.”

Aunt Nicole laughed, finally joining them to hug both her niece and her wife at once, wrapping them both up tight in her arms and planting sloppy kisses on both their cheeks. “Of course not, sweetheart,” she said with a wide grin. “’Cause you and your Momma always get to ‘em first.”

Alice burrowed into her aunt’s collar, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth spreading throughout her tiny body. Christmas was okay. Christmas was saved, for this year. She’d kick Jonathan Loblaw’s butt when they started school again, though. He had the _audacity_ to say Santa wasn’t real when _her own Auntie was one of his helpers_?

Yeah, she’d kick his butt _so hard_.

“Momma says cookies are finders’ keepers,” Alice said simply. “If we find them, we get to keep them.”

Aunt Nicole laughed, looking over to her sister-in-law. “Not quite, but that’s a lecture for another day. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and brush your teeth, and then we’ll have breakfast and open presents, okay?”

Alice beamed at that, squirming out of her Aunties’ arms and to the ground, bounding off as fast as her tiny legs would carry her up the stairs. There was no sense of betrayal left in her. Everything made sense now. Her Aunties were still in love. Her family was okay. They were all happy, and now they’d get to have Christmas again.

Things were okay.

She was happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! Fuck finals! I have my last one in a few days, and what is studying? Fuck if I know, so I wrote this instead, based off of [this](https://haughtsbiceps.tumblr.com/post/181137862305/fic-prompt) prompt from [@haughtsbiceps](https://haughtsbiceps.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. (I don't know if you have an AO3 account, so I don't know who to dedicate it to, but just know it's for you). Hope it turned out okay! Let me know what y'all think in the comments or on my tumblr [@astrophysical-bean](http://astrophysical-bean.tumblr.com/). And if anyone is curious: it is, in fact, true that Santa is a Canadian citizen. The Immigration Minister declared him one in I think 2008. 
> 
> Have a great holiday and a happy new year. Y'all made my year pretty great. 
> 
> \--Bean


End file.
